I am IronWerewolf?
by LBibliophile
Summary: Tony has a secret. He's kept it for years with no problem, but it's suddenly much harder when he is sharing his Tower with superspies, a scientist, a supersoldier, and a god. The inevitable injuries and absences are hard to hide, and he is sure they are starting to see a pattern. It's only a matter of time before they confront him with the fact that he is… No. Wait. That's not it.
1. Chapter 1

_This fic follows the AU where Tony hides the fact that he is Iron Man, using the cover story that the armour is his bodyguard._

* * *

It's movie night with the team that starts it. Note, 'the team' not 'his team'; because it's not. Well, he provides their gear and accommodation, but it's not like he's _on_ the team. Ok, actually he kinda _is_ , but they don't know that; they only see Iron Man, supposedly just his bodyguard. Huh, Schrodinger's teammate. He both is and isn't on the team until he opens the faceplate.

Anyway. Movie night. It started as a way to get everyone on the same page re: pop culture references. Between Capsicle having been napping since the 40s, Thor being an alien god, and everyone else's decidedly non-standard lifestyles, the best way to kill a conversation is to drop an unprepared reference or two. Thus, group cultural education.

Tony doesn't often join Avengers' Movie Night, despite being welcome as either Iron Man or Tony Stark. It's too hard. If he goes as Iron Man, he has to stay in the suit. And sitting there, in full battle armour while the others are lounging in comfy sweats, is somehow more isolating that being excluded entirely. It is almost worse going as Tony Stark. Then, the barrier is mental rather than physical, and he has to force himself to keep it in place. He has to constantly remind himself that he is not Iron Man; not their equal, their comrade-in-arms. He is Tony Stark – genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist – and he has to keep those masks. He can be friendly, but not their friend.

But sometimes the lure of friendly human interaction is enough to overcome the pain of these barriers; he wants to be able to soak up the atmosphere even if he is not truly a part of it. So this time when Movie Night comes around, Iron Man makes his excuses (honestly, he can't even remember what he used this time. He has a list.) but Tony Stark joins the Avengers in the communal lounge room.

Currently they are working through the Harry Potter series. Tony approves. Partly because if you're doing an overview of modern pop culture, you can't really skip it, but also (sadly) for more practical reasons. With the way the last few months (years) have been going, subjects previously considered to be purely fantasy or sci-fi have developed a distressing relevance to their everyday life. At least this way, the next time Fate decides to screw with the rules of reality, they have a common frame of reference to use to discuss it.

They are half way through the third movie when it happens. He's been trying to keep the comments to a minimum, he really has. He knows that this is just fiction. He knows that it is only a family movie. He knows that there is a limit to the type and number of interjections his team mates will accept. But really…

" _That's_ supposed to be a werewolf?" He glares at the screen as Professor Lupin finishes transforming into some sort of emaciated, bald, definitely-not-wolf-shaped _thing_ , and stands on two legs (two!) to howl at the moon. "And really, he's supposed to transform at moonrise, not dramatic moon-comes-out-from-behind-clouds. If it was just the touch of moonlight that caused it, he could simply stay inside all night. Problem solved! It negates the whole point of his suffering –"

He is cut off as several pieces of popcorn bounce off the side of his head. He turns to glare at Clint, but is intercepted by Natasha, who nods pointedly at the enthralled god and supersoldier. As though feeling their gaze, Thor looks over.

"Friend Stark. I would happily discuss these transformation magics with you later, however for now I should like to see how the Night Dog survives the soul-eaters."

Tony huffs, and settles back into the arm chair. Fine. But really... Magic, he is willing to accept. He has proof of the godly and extreme-science varieties, and with the way his life is going, discovering a secret society of magic users would barely raise an eyebrow. But if they can't even get their own logic right…


	2. Chapter 2

Tony Stark has too many jobs, he knows this. His share of running Stark Industries isn't too bad; it's mostly pre-scheduled meetings and events (a decent percentage of which he can convince Pepper to let him out of – there's a reason he made her CEO) at sensible hours, and paperwork he does his best to ignore. Engineer, inventor – head of SI R&D, SHIELD consultant, and Avengers tech supplier – is more intense. It takes every spare minute he can find (or make – who really needs sleep?), but as long as he keeps up with his SI and SHIELD deadlines he can work to his own timetable and in his own space.

No, the real killer – made all the worse by the fact that no-one else knows that it is a consideration – is Iron Man. Supervillains don't work to a schedule. They don't care that you've got deadlines coming out your ears this week. They don't care if you need to be prepared for a critical business meeting the next morning. They don't care if you haven't eaten for the past 13 hours or slept for the last 40. No. A supervillain attacks, and it's drop everything, invent a plausible excuse, and go.

About the only plus side is that supervillains – in contrast to their more mundane cousins – are, on the whole, dramatic as all hell. They want an audience. They want to be seen. It certainly makes finding and fighting them a hell of a lot easier.

He scowls. That's part of what annoyed him most about this fight. In addition to committing all three scheduling offences (make that 45 hours without sleep now, thankyou very much), the stupid mad-biologist (ha, suck-it Bruce, no mad-engineer this time) and his genetically enhanced wolves (really?) had struck at midnight. After taking out the power to a dozen surrounding blocks.

You would have thought that the full moon would have been enough to counteract the loss of visibility; but between the shifting moon-shadows, flaring repulsor blasts, and Thor's lightning (blinding enough even in daylight), it was a miracle they were mostly hitting the wolves and not each other (or light poles, letterboxes, cars, that one suspicious looking bicycle…). Thankfully they hadn't needed to call a Code Green; adding a flailing Hulk would have turned it into a true nightmare.

All of which led to rather more close calls than Tony likes, and a completely unacceptable amount of damage to the suit. Upgrades are clearly in order. Immediately. However this plan is hampered by that now-45 hours lack of sleep, almost four hours of heavy fighting, and the previously-mentioned SI meeting due to start in another five. So, step 1: coffee. Lots, and lots of coffee.

His brain having finished summarising the situation, his body informs him that it already reached that conclusion a good ten minutes ago, and takes the final steps to enter the main kitchen.

Tony stops. Yes, this is the kitchen. So the coffee machine should be right _there_. Why is there something in the way?

"Tony?"

"Bruce?" Oh, he must need that coffee more than he realised.

"I didn't expect to see… Wait, are those _claw_ marks?"

Tony follows Bruce's gaze towards his arm, eyes swimming for a moment before focusing on the four red gashes in parallel lines, trails of blood drying on his skin. Right, that. Suit was insufficient protection. Wolfy-claws got through. Skin was definitely insufficient protection. Ergo, claw wounds, and necessary repairs/upgrades.

His mind feels clunky as he tries to processes the next step. Iron Man got clawed fighting super-wolves, Tony Stark did not. So what happened to Tony Stark? Option 1: lab accident. Used that excuse a lot recently, and doesn't really explain the shaping. Option 2: got clawed by something else. What? When? Where? How? Too much effort, and far too close to the truth. Option 3: self-inflicted. No. Nonono. Not going there. That is _over_. Option 4: … Fuckit. Bruce can make that one up himself.

Decision made (or not), Tony raises his head and blinks at Bruce, redirecting energy used for mental processing back directly to his mouth.

"Huh. Does look a bit like that." Pause.

"So, battle. Iron Man gave me an update. Not bad for essentially fighting blind. Who even gave you those piece-of-crap night-vision filters? SHIELD? I bet it was SHIELD, and outdated Hammer Tech. Utterly hopeless. If you're using them in a combat situation, they need to deal with both shadow and flashes. The naked eye could do better! I could make better while blindfolded. In fact, I'm tempted to do it just to prove I can. Why someone hasn't come up with something already… Oh right, because I'm Tony Stark and everyone else's tech is crap. Ok, you want to come with me to work on some plans? Sure, that's all good. We can totally do that. Science-bros. No, wait, this isn't right. Bruce, my workshop is back that way. Where are you going? We're on the wrong floor. Right, infirmary, we're in the infirmary now. But you were on science, not smash today. No, wait, the Other Guy can't get hurt. Are you hurt?! Nono, I should go, I'm terrible around injuries."

"Tony. Sit down, and shut up." Tony blinks up at Bruce, slightly surprised to find that he is obeying. "No, the Other Guy did not come out. No, I'm not hurt. No, you should definitely stay, because _you_ are. Now. I'm going to clean and wrap your arm, then you're going to go to bed. To sleep; because I don't need to know just how long you've been up to know it's been far too long. No excuses. Understood?"

Part of him wants to argue. Tony Stark needs to double (triple) check everything is ready for the meeting. Iron Man needs to mend the suit. But Tony's-body still hasn't gotten its coffee, and really just wants to lie down and not get up for at least a few hours. Tony's-eyes make an executive decision and refuse to open after the next blink. He feels gentle hands pushing him down onto the bed, then moving to tend to his arm. He has a vague thought wondering if the armour let any other marks through, but before he can worry, sleep drags him away.

* * *

 _Tony's comment about mad-biologist versus mad-engineer is in reference to the fact that the stereotypical mad-scientist is primarily an engineer (hence death-rays, etc). From the bits I've seen, Marvel scientist-villains seem to alternate between engineering and biology/genetics. Other disciplines are less suited towards practical applications (unless you are an astrophysicist with access to alien interdimensional travel tech…)_


	3. Chapter 3

Most of Tony's nightmares are silent. When he is being waterboarded in Afghanistan, he has to hold his breath. When Ob- Stane is stealing his heart, he is paralysed. When he is floating in the void beyond the wormhole, there is only emptiness. But when he dreams of metal – _deadly shards burrowing towards his heart, sharp blades ripping his chest open, copper blood heavy on his tongue and in his nose, the iron angel of death with his name emblazoned on the side_ – then, then he screams. He screams, and he screams, and it is only the built-in soundproofing that keeps him from waking the whole Tower.

The cries still echo in the room as he jerks upright, heart pounding, breath gasping in his throat.

"JARVIS, lights!"

Warm golden light gradually fills the room, glowing on the white walls and plush carpet – _not rough stone, not sand_. His heartbeat slows but his breath continues to come in strangled pants. His eyes are open, but the memories crowd at the edges of his vision. It is too close, too still…

One-handed, he tugs at the tangled covers, trying to free himself. The other remains pressed to his chest, feeling the smooth planes of the arc reactor – _not sticky blood, not a ragged hole_. Finally free, he staggers to his feet, pushing open a door and out onto the balcony, cool night air washing over him. The tight band around his chest loosens, and for a few moments he just breathes; enjoying the luxury of air flowing in and out.

Gradually, he turns his attention outwards again. The city is spread out below him, the golden lights twinkling like the stars above – _cold, dark, empty, alone._ His breath hitches and he pushes the thought away, locking his gaze on the full moon. Letting the pale orb be his anchor.

He doesn't know how long he stands there, bathed in the cool white light, but eventually the moon sinks behind the surrounding towers, its spell lifting. His mind now calm, Tony grimaces as he notices the _other_ side-effect of this particular nightmare. Screaming himself awake is decidedly non-conductive to the health of his throat tissues. He can only be thankful he doesn't have any social commitments later today.

What he really wants right now is a drink. Not that type; just something warm and soothing. Unfortunately, as much as he lives off coffee most of the time, he knows from experience that the extra caffeine now would serve only to bring back the trembling he's barely got under control.

He smiles as a solution hits him. Tea. That would work. He knows Bruce keeps the communal kitchen stocked with his preferred blends, and the scientist had offered several times to share his supply (usually while looking pointedly at Tony's current mug of coffee, the heathen). And it's unlikely that he'll run into anyone else there, this early in the morning…

Unfortunately, the kitchen is not as empty as he had hoped.

"Oh, Stark. What are you doing up at this hour?"

"I could ask you the same question, Rogers." And, yep, his throat sounds as bad as it feels. Damn, there goes any chance of claiming a workshop binge.

Steve's eyebrows rise at the rasp in his voice, but then he just shrugs.

"I don't need a lot of sleep anymore, thanks to the serum, and, well… sometimes I'm glad of that." His eyes slide to one side before returning. "I'm guessing you get the nightmares too, with what I've heard of Afghanistan. If you ever want to talk about it…"

"No, I'm up because I've been howling at the moon." The sarcasm is as thick as his damaged voice can make it.

No, he does not want to talk about Afghanistan. He doesn't want to talk about it; he doesn't want to _think_ about it. Then, sometimes, he can pretend his nightmares were never reality.

He shivers as the jittering beneath his skin returns, his earlier calm draining away beneath the effort of re-establishing his masks. He just wants to grab his drink and retreat to the workshop, where he can bury himself in his projects and forget that the past ever existed.

"- hot honey-water." Tony drags his attention back as he realises the other man is still speaking. "Or tea, I suppose, since it's easier to get now. But the honey, anyway. My mother used to make it for me when I was sick. It works wonders on sore throats, regardless of what causes them."

Tony doesn't reply, but he does grab the honey jar on his way past to the tea shelf. Its not like it can hurt at this point, either his throat or his reputation. And he appreciates the suggestion, not just for its effectiveness (although by the end of the mug his throat definitely thanks Cap for that), but for the fact that it shows he cares. Steve cares, not just for his team-mate Iron Man, but for Tony Stark, the crazy billionaire-philanthropist-genius who tried to give him a home.


	4. Chapter 4

When he first agreed to the bodyguard cover story, Tony hadn't properly considered the complexities of maintaining dual personas. The first few years weren't too hard. As Tony Stark, he continued to be the genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist the media knows and loves (to hate). It was a mask he had spent rather too much of his life perfecting, and any discrepancies could easily (and often accurately, actually) be explained away as effects from his experiences in Afghanistan; eccentric is an easy addition to his description. As Iron Man, well, quite frankly, he didn't have much of a public personality at all. Shiny armour and shiny explosions make for an excellent distraction.

The thing about being a celebrity, is that he is used to living his life in the spotlight. He is used to having his every action on public display, the most innocent of reactions analysed for hidden meaning. He knows how to play on that. But he is also used to being able to lock himself away behind state-of-the-art security systems and drop all his masks; be just Tony. And if sometimes being just Tony is a little lonely, well, it's nothing he isn't used to. The privacy is worth it, and that's what the bots are for.

But then he was talked into joining the Avengers, and then he had the brilliant idea to include customised rooms when rebuilding the Tower, and then he invited said team to _live_ with him; what was he _thinking_? (Perhaps that they are one of the best things to happen to him.) The problem with the Avengers, is that they blur lines. Before, it was obvious which role he needed to play at any given time, and any overlap was minimal. No-one was close enough to see the similarities. But the Avengers have slipped behind those barriers. They see casual Tony Stark, and team-mate Iron Man; both of which draw dangerously close to just-Tony at the centre of it all.

One of the unexpected challenges of this, is that the cover stories just got a whole heap more complicated. As much as the media loves prying into his private life, for the most part, they are quite happy with speculation. With the Avengers, they expect an explanation, and one that is consistent across all his personas, Tony Stark and Iron Man, public and private. And they _notice_ things. He can shrug them off sometimes, but do it too often and they will become (more) suspicious, and start actively digging for his secrets. He can't let that happen.

Case in point, his current predicament.

He looks down at the pages of newspaper spread across the coffee table (Steve insists on getting a paper copy, and it always ends up strewn about the common areas as people pick it apart). The glossy photos of the society pages show some gala or another. Mostly harmless, until you realise that while the distinctive figure of Tony Stark is clearly visible in the earlier images, he is conspicuously absent from later scenes in the moonlit gardens. And that it is Natasha who has just been looking through them.

"That was the evening we had the 'triffid' attacks, wasn't it?"

He nods, the Iron Man suit moving smoothly around him.

"If Stark needed you, then you shouldn't have come. While we appreciate the help, he is your boss, and protecting him should be your top priority. You've been joining us on missions so often…"

And ok, so maybe she's right. He has been going out as Iron Man too often, particularly when Tony Stark is such a public figure. But being Iron Man is addictive, intoxicating. Not just the adrenalin of battle, but knowing that he is protecting people and property, where once his creations were used only to destroy. Besides, given the choice between fighting man-eating plants and staying to schmooze with people whose names and titles he'll mostly forget three seconds after he meets them… Having a heroic alter-ego has to be good for something, right? A pity he can't just tell Natasha that.

"It was no imposition. Mr Stark no longer required my attendance at that point, he had an alternate private engagement." Oops. He meant that to sound appropriately vague and professional, but given his past reputation, he knows exactly how she's going to interpret it. Sure enough…

"A private engagement?" She raises an eyebrow. "Apparently he's finally learnt some discretion, if I haven't seen any signs of additional company around the Tower. Or in the papers."

Of course she hasn't noticed anything, he's been so discrete he hasn't brought anyone home at all. In fact, since Afghanistan, the playboy part of his description has been based entirely on past reputation. Part of that is due to the… something… he has with Pepper, but there are other issues too ( _can't let anyone near the arc reactor, can't risk it, never again_ ).

"By private, I meant alone." And wow, apparently that was more of a touchy subject than he realised. Good thing the helmet's voice modulator dampens some of the effect, even if it doesn't do anything for the rapidness of his response. Unfortunately, now he's also burned a perfectly good alibi.

"If you want further details, you will have to as Mr Stark himself." Yeah, actually, please _don't_ do that. He makes a mental note to keep his non-armoured self out of Natasha's way for the near future, until she has a chance to forget about her questions (or at least until he can come up with a better excuse).

She looks at him for a long moment (thankyou armour for hiding nervous tells), but then just nods, and reaches for the newspaper's puzzle page. He's dodged the bullet for now, but it's not the first time she's had questions, and it won't be the last. Time to go work up a new list of excuses. (Or maybe it's time for one of those excuses to just be the truth? Maybe…)


	5. Chapter 5

When he had offered to house a team of superheroes, he wasn't quite sure what to expect. He had thought there might be team training, and even team dinners. He thought he might see the others out of uniform and relaxed (although he wasn't quite sure what a relaxed Captain America or Black Widow would even look like). He had hoped for more experimenting sessions with his new 'science bro'. He'd hoped that while Pepper was busy or away, they would help make the Tower a little less empty and quiet.

What he got, was that, but so much more. He hadn't expected the eraser rubbings a surprisingly artistic supersoldier left all over the floor. He hadn't expected the clumsiness of an early morning assassin, or for another to prefer ceiling vents to corridors. He hadn't expected the sheer number of pop-tarts an addicted God can eat on a weekly basis, or that his favourite dried blueberries would be constantly disappearing (why did he ever introduce Bruce to them?). He hadn't expected team dinners would lead to team movie nights. And he certainly hadn't expected that they'd all gossip like teenagers.

"It's odd, is all I'm saying. We've been working with the guy for months, but we still don't know his name or face or anything. Just a metal suit and synthesised voice. For all we know, it could be empty; just another one of Stark's AIs."

Tony tries not to react too strongly to Steve's suggestion. As a matter of fact, it often _is_ actually JARVIS piloting the suit, particularly for official functions (and there is nothing 'just' about him). When SHIELD had given him the cover story after the whole Stane incident, they hadn't stopped to think about the logistics of claiming Iron Man is his bodyguard, given he is never actually seen with his employer. Thankfully, he is a technological genius, and with JARVIS' help, is able to pick up their slack. Again.

"But what if there is someone in there, but they can't leave. Like, they'll die or something." Most of the group looks interested at Clint's suggestion, but Bruce is dubious.

"A life-support suit? But if he's that injured, surely he shouldn't be fighting in the first place."

"Darth Vader managed just fine." And he couldn't tell just who the muttered comment came from, but he's not sure he appreciates the comparison.

"Friends!" Everyone winces slightly at Thor's enthusiastic entrance to the discussion. "Perhaps it is that the Man of Iron is not in fact a man? I have seen that, in many circles, woman warriors here are only slightly more accepted than the Lady Sif back home." Natasha just shakes her head.

"Trust me, he's not a woman."

"Back to the previous idea," and Clint is clearly on a roll this evening, "maybe he's not currently wounded, but he has scars or something like that he needs to hide."

"You mean, like that Deadpool fella?"

"Yeah, only with a much better sense of style and humour."

"You can thank me for the style." Tony waves lazily, barely glancing up from the tablet on his lap.

"And the humour?"

"No comment." He sees Clint open his mouth – not doubt preparing to spout off some other ridiculous theory – and feels his grin falter, a wave of exhaustion washing through him. He is so fucking tired of this shit. Tired of the lies and the masks and constantly having to censor himself. He just wanted to help save the world, try to make up for the mistakes made in his name. Now he finally has a group of people he likes, who respect and accept both sides of him, and he can feel himself starting to tear that apart.

"Look, I'll talk about the suit all you like, but anything about Iron Man himself is off limits. And don't go pestering him instead. He'll tell you what, when, and if he feels comfortable doing so. People are allowed to have secrets, regardless of what you spy-types think. You don't know what you're prodding at; you don't know the consequences. Leave it."

He needs to go. He can't… he can't do this right now. He can't pretend. Ostensively checking his watch, he turns off his tablet and stands.

"Now, I have a project I need to get back to, so enjoy the rest of your evening with a different topic."

Waiting in the kitchen for the lift to arrive (and surely JARVIS is usually faster than this) he can't help but overhear their reaction to his exit.

"What is Stark's problem? It's like it's his time of the month or something." Clint is disgruntled, clearly put out by the way his theorising was shut down. "Ow, _Nat_. Wait, hold that thought. Someone pull up a calendar. Is it tonight?"

He doesn't know what Clint is talking about, and at this moment, he doesn't care. He just wants to get to the privacy of his workshop, where he doesn't have to worry about masks, or identities, or team mates, or feelings…


	6. Chapter 6

After a few minutes enjoying the peace of the workshop he remembers why he joined the others on the common floor in the first place. Pieces of various projects lie scattered on the benches, while schematics for more are just waiting to be called to holographic life. But none of them interest him. Usually he finds it a struggle to turn his brain off, his mind either flitting restlessly between ideas or hyper-focussed on the details of his current challenge. But some days, inventing and tinkering loses its shine. His work feels tedious and the workshop like a cage. On those days, he knows he needs to get out, interact with people and give his mind something different to focus on.

Of course, after his dramatic exit there's no way he's going back up there as Tony Stark. Even relieving the foggy feeling creeping back over his brain is not worth re-joining the others after the fuss he made. Looks like it's time to make actual use of the whole dual identities thing. If nothing else, his presence as Iron Man and earlier rant should be enough to force a change of topic.

Karma hates him.

When he clunks back into the lounge and hears the new topic of conversation, he wants to groan and hit his head against the nearest wall. He has indeed managed to escape the gossip about Iron Man; only now they are discussing him as Tony Stark.

In his frustration, it takes a moment for him to process what they are actually saying. Then it hits, and a response is startled out of him.

"What? You really think… you think Tony Stark is a werewolf?" He suddenly wishes that he'd found a way to add expressions to the armour. The blank faceplate and altered voice are utterly inadequate at expressing his level of incredulity. "How do you even come up with these theories?"

Clint – of course it's Clint with the crazy ideas – stares at him defiantly.

"Well, he's clearly hiding something. And I mean, he gets inexplicably moody, vanishes around the full moon, shows up with odd injuries including claw marks… How do you put all that together?"

"But… a _werewolf_?"

He looks at Bruce and Steve, hoping one of the two will fulfil their usual role as the voice of reason. But the scientist just shrugs.

"It's not entirely impossible, after all, look at the rest of us. I'm essentially a rage-triggered were-ogre."

"And I was injected with a serum that made me three times heavier and half again as tall in minutes; and gave me super-strength and healing to boot."

"Exactly." Clint nods in satisfied agreement. "And I'm a modern-day Robin Hood, Nat's a Russian ninja, and Thor is an alien and literal god. That's before we even get to the crazy shit we have to fight. Stark being a werewolf would barely make the top ten strangest things about our lives. C'mon, you have to admit it's at least plausible."

He wants to face palm. Here he'd been, worried that he would give away his secret, and they'd gone and come up with a theory like this. For such a smart group of people, how could they be so _stupid_? (And what does it say about their job that this sort of line of thinking actually works, more often than not.)

He's almost tempted to agree, just to see what happens next. But... no. After working himself up for their reaction to his identity, he can't just leave them like this. Besides, he trusts them. And he wants them to trust him; all of him, not both. He wants to be a part of the team properly. He takes a deep breath.

"No. Just… no." Clint goes to protest, but he holds up a hand to silence him. "Tony Stark is not a werewolf. Tony Stark is _Iron Man_." For the first time in his teammates' presence, he pops the visor, glaring at them all in exasperation.

 _"I am Iron Man."_

"Oh…"

"…"

"How the fuck did we miss that and come up with werewolf instead?"


End file.
